


B-L-U-N-D-E-R

by LalalaLinoleum



Category: AUSTEN Jane - Works, Emma (1996), Emma (2020), Emma (TV 2009), Emma - Jane Austen, emma - Fandom
Genre: But he is a jerk, Canon Compliant, F/M, Frank's not a villain, Gettin' into their heads, If Emma weren't a mystery story, What were they thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26210416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LalalaLinoleum/pseuds/LalalaLinoleum
Summary: Things Jane Fairfax and Frank Churchill might have been thinking/doing while everyone else was distracted by picnics.I use some of Austen's text to fit the pieces of my version of their plotline together with their actual plotline in the novel. It's meant to be canon-compliant.This work isn't intended to serve a particular adaptation (most versions of Emma don't deal with the word puzzles, for example), but it's fairly compatible with them all.This is actually an extensive rewrite of a fic I wrote 23 years ago. I was super-unsatisfied with it then. It's only slightly better now. LOL.
Relationships: Frank Churchill & Jane Fairfax, Frank Churchill/Jane Fairfax, George Knightley/Emma Woodhouse
Comments: 12
Kudos: 33





	1. Strawberries & Mrs. Smallridge's Schoolroom

The irrepressible heat of the summer afternoon had taken its toll on Miss Jane Fairfax. Again, she managed to fend off yet another offer of employment from the equally irrepressible Augusta Elton.

"But Jane!" the vicar’s wife exclaimed. "Think of the superior advantages of such a position! Mrs. Smallridge is so charming, so delightful, a fixture in the first circles and a mere four miles from my dear sister at Maple Grove. As I just said to your dear aunt, there is not a superior nursery in the world save the one at Maple Grove itself, or Mrs. Bragges’. Mrs. Smallridge’s three dear girls are in need, and who better than Miss Jane Fairfax - the very model of a steady, reliable young lady - to be their governess. I do so enjoy assisting worthy young people to find their place in the world. And my friends do say I have quite a knack for singling out those unseen blooms most in need of my advice and connections. The Smallridges - who are so intimate at Maple Grove! - will quite rave about you, Jane. Such a modern household, such a well-equipped schoolroom! At my recommendation, they agree to have you on the spot - and at a generous salary - for such a position. Give me your word and we shall close the offer immediately, in tomorrow’s post!”

Jane sighed almost imperceptibly, though her features and tone of voice expressed a somewhat greater degree of vexation, and once again repeated that she could not accept any offers of employment at present. She was truly upset, and not merely because the exhausting Mrs. Elton refused to take no for an answer. Mrs. Smallridge’s offer was a stark reminded her that she had very little time left before needing to come to terms with her still-secret engagement to Mr. Frank Churchill. Jane did not truly want to work for any of them - not the Smallridges, the Bragges, nor even the exalted Sucklings themselves - but there was a distinct, devastating possibility that Mrs. Elton in all her misapplied exertions had actually provided Jane the best option for her future happiness and comfort.

The day of strawberry-picking at the famous patches of Donwell Abbey had been tiring in so many respects. Frank was late, as usual, and his new stepmother, Mrs. Weston, repeated her fears about his usual mount, the skittish black mare he favored. Jane had hoped that she and Frank would be able to steal some time for candid discussion of their situation, but the prospect of such a meeting was seeming more and more impossible as the party finished gathering and settled near the house. The sweltering gardens of Donwell made her weary of her secret, her company, and her prospects.

Jane and Frank Churchill had been acquainted months earlier in Weymouth. Frank had fallen quickly and madly in love with her elegance and dark, striking features, insisting that she consent to marry him. In turn, she was captivated by his easy charm - and his good looks.

For a lady normally considered measured, proper, and practical - as Jane was - this was a rather perplexing course. She very much questioned her choice, particularly of late. After all, this wasn’t some ridiculous plot from a silly novel, to be hewn and smoothed into place by some benevolent author-god with the power to bless penniless orphans with happy endings. This was reality…wasn’t it?

There he was, entering her life at a time of transition, just as she was most vulnerable. All considered, Jane felt she loved Frank, and, well, truth was that he was probably her last chance to avoid a life as a glorified servant. She had to try.

Jane, an orphan, was now grown, and obliged to make her own living apart from the generosity of her father's old friend, Colonel Campbell. Her plan, prior to meeting Frank Churchill, had been to find a position as governess to a family of rank with young children. Though the Campbells seemed happy to keep Jane with them, Miss Campbell’s marriage marked a change in household circumstances that made Jane useful to no one. Feeling it inappropriate to stay, Jane determined it was time to make her own way in the world. Her education and temperament were well-suited to work in the schoolroom, even if it meant seclusion from the kind of society her friends and remaining family felt she deserved. The demotion of sphere it offered did worry her, though Jane would never admit that such things mattered much. Not that she ever aspired to some grand match. She hadn’t the dowry nor the title, and besides, becoming a possession of some great gentleman was no answer to the questions posed by circumstance. There must be regard. If not _love_ , at least, something very near it.

 _Poor Jane Fairfax_ , she imagined they all thought. And while Jane had no desire to think ill of her kind aunt, she knew that they must be drawing comparisons between her own circumstances and those of Miss Bates. Her Aunt Hetty had been born a gentlewoman, the esteemed daughter of a respected vicar, and was now living in reduced circumstances with her mother in a small set of rooms in the village. There was nothing genteel about poverty, no matter how romantic it might seem on the pages of novels.

While gentle society might be taken aback by the speed of an attachment like Jane’s and Frank Churchill’s, the real trouble was the inevitable disapproval of Frank’s guardians. The particular trouble lay with his uncle's haughty wife, who had never approved of the marriage of Miss Churchill to Frank's father. While Frank was past the legal age of majority, his inheritance still very much depended on the moods of his Aunt Churchill, whom Frank knew led his uncle's decisions in virtually all matters. Given their feelings about Mr. Weston, Jane’s situation in life could hardly satisfy someone in the Churchills' exalted sphere.

And so, Frank persuaded Jane to consent to a secret engagement to last until the imminent passing of his sickly aunt - his _very dear_ aunt, a surrogate mother whom he _could not bear_ to burden with such disturbing news in her condition. Frank assured her that once his aunt had passed her suffering, his Uncle Churchill - and his own father - would surely bless the union. 

On some level, Jane always knew that Frank was in some degree of denial, but she joined him in that denial for quite some time. Frank had that kind of power over her. It wasn’t his original intention for things to be this way. It was just how it was between them, and he learned to use it to his advantage.

Frank Churchill was formidable in that he made a habit of prevailing in everything that mattered to him, but not in the dark ways one might expect from a gothic villain. He simply overpowered her. With his energy, his attention, his promises. She believed that it all came from a good place, but she knew others might never understand.

Since October, no one but themselves had known of the affair. They were obligated by circumstances to limit their contact to correspondence, as Frank had his duty to his aunt and uncle at their estate, Enscombe, in Yorkshire, and Jane was required to accompany the Campbells in Ireland. In February, Jane returned to Highbury to stay with her Grandmother and Aunt Bates, with great hopes of finally being able to solidify the state of her plans with Frank.

Frank's letters had, till the present summer, been frequent and consistently affectionate, though his view of their future together was imprecise at best. He gave her continual assurances that all would end to their satisfaction, though his notions of procedure were vague and ever-changing. It was all due to the nature of his Aunt Churchill’s illness, he reassured her, but Jane’s practical side questioned this, at least in part.

At last, he decided that he would make a long-awaited visit to his father in Highbury, on the pretense of desiring to meet his new stepmother. Frank had always intended to acquaint himself with his Highbury roots, but had always had one obligation or another - often to his aunt and uncle - to preempt his attention. Having been raised by the Churchills upon his mother's death, he felt that he had a special duty to repay their devotion. And considering the fragile state of his aunt's health, he felt obliged to cater to her wishes. Jane's presence in Highbury, however, was all that was necessary to force himself to make time to return for a visit to Randalls, his father's estate.

Their time together at Highbury, however, was strained and limited, as both Jane and Frank could barely acknowledge even their acquaintance without fear of blundering into revelations amongst their families and friends. Keeping up the appearance of disinterest was exhausting for Jane in particular.

In the spring, the Churchills had removed to Richmond, near enough to Highbury to make it easier for Frank to come and go nearly whenever he pleased. So Frank, under the pretense of business or his aunt's health, could frequently escape the scene of their charade and thereby return with renewed strength to the deception. Jane, however, had no intimate society other than that of her inquisitive aunt and her grandmother in the general vicinity, and nowhere to go save their small home in the village. Her only escape lay in fetching the morning letters, in hopes of receiving a message from Frank or perhaps her friend Mrs. Dixon, the former Miss Campbell. Most recently, even Frank's letters were growing sparse and brief.

Jane felt increasing doubt as to the prudence of their subterfuge. She was increasingly ashamed to be a party to such a disguise. It was not simply a lie; it forcibly altered all her intercourse with others, particularly when he was near. While she became more cold and withdrawn, Frank became more animated and prone to mistakes. It hurt her especially to be perpetually held from him at arm's length, while he formed affectionate relationships with the unsuspecting others about them. At times, it was more than Jane's sensibilities could bear to see him paying the most earnest attentions to Miss Emma Woodhouse, whom he insisted felt nothing for him. "After all," he had reminded her in one brief moment of privacy, "a young man who is truly unattached will mingle and flirt with young ladies, perhaps with one in particular more than with the others."

To this, she could only reply, "You have too much energy and inclination for it," before he was off again. Sometimes she wondered if he was enjoying it all too much.

So, Jane had borne the secret for months without a slip. At times, however, Frank's easy manners and inclination to relaxed spontaneity risked its security. Most recently, he betrayed an intelligence conveyed through one of her letters regarding Mr. Perry's plans for a carriage, a secret of which only she, her aunt, and her grandmother were aware. At first, he admitted that his stepmother, Mrs. Weston, must have written the information to him. When she denied any awareness, he attributed the knowledge to a "dream." At the moment that it seemed his charming absent-mindedness had cleared him, Miss Bates wondered out loud, as she often did, how great the coincidence between Frank's figment and the particular secret which Mrs. Perry had imparted to herself, her mother, and Jane several months before. Though the connection seemed excruciatingly obvious to Jane, no one else seemed to suspect a thing. She hung at the back of the party as it approached Hartfield, the Woodhouse estate, adjusting her shawl and struggling to retain a tranquil countenance, and in doing so, realized that Mr. George Knightley had not only forged the connection, but was intent upon perceiving any reaction on her part as proof of its veracity. As that day at Hartfield progressed, Jane grew more and more uneasy. At Frank's suggestion, the young people sat down to word puzzles. Frank immediately endeavored to engross himself in Miss Woodhouse, but not without extending to Jane a message of relief in the word "blunder."

 _A blunder, indeed, Frank_ , she thought, her visible flesh coloring as she pushed the letters back at him a bit too forcefully. The blush grew deeper as she noticed the intensity with which Mr. Knightley regarded both Frank's puzzle and her own reaction. Jane hoped that her own guilt was causing her to overestimate both the level and cause for his suspicion. She had perceived on other occasions his anxiousness at Frank's particular attention to Miss Woodhouse, and fancied that this was the reason for his careful observance. She could not blame him, for the very same attentions which so engaged his interest also gave her great pain. She remembered the evening at the Coles’ when they had both watched uneasily as Frank and Miss Woodhouse sang together at the pianoforte. As Jane had struggled to maintain composure, she noted how Mr. Knightley had gripped his chair, pushing himself deep into its back, with an expression of displeasure on his face. 


	2. When I am Missed

"Should we not walk? Will not Mr. Knightley shew us the garden? I wish to see the whole extent!" Jane had finally heard enough from Mrs. Elton about the Smallridges’ schoolroom, interrupting her pointedly.

She abruptly rose, and escaped into the gardens, with the others straggling along behind her at a leisurely pace. _I can keep up no longer_ , she thought. _Always a part to act - a disgusting life of deceit! - this horrible lie must end else it will kill me!_ Jane was exhausted, drained by the reserve she had enforced upon herself and disheartened by Frank's inattentiveness.

It was not the constant separation from Frank which caused her the most discomfort. She was used to being alone, even among others, and his constant reassurances of affection during their months apart had been a comfort. Instead their close proximity caused the most immediate anxiety, emphasizing the necessity for public discretion which distance had to that point obscured. She was unable to so much as look at him, or even to accept his simplest civilities, without proceeding in an excruciatingly careful and studied manner. It was difficult indeed to find herself in the continual presence of a man whom at one time had laid bare the depths of his adoration for her, but whom now must remain constantly indifferent. His act was entirely convincing, sometimes even to Jane herself, who wondered at times if perhaps his feelings had changed. As she had few means of re-engaging him, it was impossible to reassure herself.

Upon reaching Highbury, his letters had naturally dwindled to infrequent notes regarding either points of importance to the deception or brief details of his emergencies at Enscombe. There were few loving words in any of them.

As soon as it was evident that the others were sufficiently engaged in admiring Donwell's ponds and lime walk, she saw room for her retreat. She made directly for the house, and upon reaching the hall, happened upon Miss Woodhouse, whom she discovered attending to her father inside.

Jane was at first overcome by the simple desire to silently escape. Instead, she paused to regain her composure and manage a few practical words to the mistress of Hartfield. _Just as well_ , she thought. _She can inform my aunt that I have gone home when I am missed._ Miss Woodhouse agreed to relay the information, but insisted that Jane wait for her father's carriage. “I am determined to go directly,” Jane repeated.

"Alone?" Miss Woodhouse exclaimed. _Alone._ Yes, Jane thought soberly, I am indeed alone. _Where in the world is Frank?_

She studied Miss Woodhouse, all confidence, poise, and sweetness. She was indeed beautiful. She did not doubt why Frank had singled this young woman out for his particular attentions. Emma Woodhouse encouraged their playful discourse, much to the delight and relief of Frank, who seemed to notice no one else while in her presence. Jane understood why Frank must not attend to herself, but why, she asked herself, must he try so ardently to attach Miss Woodhouse - to the neglect of everyone else? 

Jane was beginning to realize just how wrong it all was. At best, it showed just how careless Frank Churchill could be, and that bothered her nearly as much as the notion that he might actually find himself attracted to Miss Woodhouse.

But there was more to it. Mrs. Weston, formerly Miss Woodhouse's governess, doted upon Emma and Frank, and no doubt entertained hopes that her dear young friend and her beloved new stepson might become a match. And Frank, ever-reverent of the needs and wishes of his family, she thought, might begin to question the prudence of his own engagement to her! It seemed too logical a possibility to ignore, particularly when Miss Woodhouse would enter marriage with a significant fortune attached.

At that moment, Jane thought again of Mrs. Elton's offer. She wondered what life with the Smallridges would be like - without her family and friends, without Frank, and with little prospect for a second engagement. Her beauty would fade, her means would no longer allow her to dress as well as she had, and she would have little time to sit down at her beautiful pianoforte, her favorite pastime (and, she thought with a bit of a pang, a gift from Frank).

The recollection of this proof of regard actually lifted Jane’s spirits somewhat, though her doubts persisted. What if he no longer loved her? Everyone knew stories of men who grew bored with young ladies after passionate beginnings. What if he cared more about his aunt’s money than he cared about her? What if he had never loved her? She would grow old parenting other people's children, reduced to a servant in a stranger's house, and when she had been so close to happiness!

Perhaps she _had_ overestimated Frank's constancy. They had, after all, entered into their engagement so quickly, and knowing so little about each other. They had both been so blinded by the feelings of the moment that it was quite possible that Frank's infinitely more acute affliction (at first) would dwindle before hers. In all honesty, Jane missed the flattery of his attentions, and wondered if the Frank Churchill who at Weymouth had convinced her to return his affections was not the same Frank Churchill who took such delight in the company of Miss Emma Woodhouse.

"...for me to be afraid of walking alone! - I who may so soon have to guard others!" How jaded it sounded. But there it was. _You must face facts, Jane_ , she told herself. _An unhappy situation is before you._

Miss Woodhouse then mentioned something about the heat and fatigue, to which Jane replied, "I am fatigued; but it is not that sort of fatigue. Walking will refresh me quick, Miss Woodhouse. We all know at times what it is to be wearied in spirits." Jane could not blame Miss Woodhouse for Frank's apparent attachment to her, but it did feel odd to be so near to admitting defeat in her presence!

"Mine, I confess," Jane continued, "are exhausted. The greatest kindness you can shew me will be to let me have my own way, and say only that I am gone when necessary." With Miss Woodhouse's assurance, Jane was off, still half-hoping to meet Frank on the way. She chided herself for wishing it, full knowing that Frank had again been usurped at home and would not show. It was still very hot, and Jane was soon forced to stop for a brief respite from her physical and emotional exhaustion. Fresh waves of uneasiness welled up within her, momentarily paralyzing her weakened body. 


	3. Defense

Just at the moment she thought she would faint in total resignation (and hunger, for she ate very little these days), she was startled by the sound of hoofbeats just down the lane. She looked, doubted, blinked, and confirmed. It was Frank Churchill.

"Jane!" he exclaimed, pulling his horse up and dismounting in a storm of hooves and dust. "What is this? Where are you going?”

Frank came to her distracted, as always. She could tell. Frank Churchill was good at being distracted. He was normally surrounded by a cloud of activity and energy that kept him just beyond everyone’s reach, including and sometimes especially, it felt to her, Jane’s.

Had he read her thoughts, Frank would have disagreed. Jane…well, just the sight of her made the world stop on its axis. At this moment there was only Jane Fairfax. Glorious, perfect, wonderful Jane Fairfax. After all these months, it was all he could do to keep himself from reaching out and touching her in very impertinent ways.

She steeled herself for another wearying encounter. Was it natural for the things one wanted most in the world to be so thoroughly exhausting? Frank was exhilarating to look at, to be so near, but there was always a price to pay in the aftermath. During good times, there was nothing better than letting him sweep her away into some fantastic adventure. But now it was different. Now Jane felt as if she were fighting against something that required her to defend herself.

When he grazed his fingertips down her neck in an attempt to draw her closer, Jane thrilled for a moment. She very nearly gave in to the impulse to follow his lead until the sour feeling in the pit of her stomach stopped her and the instinct to defend returned.

"Your stepmother is worried,” Jane said, desperately trying to ignore the longing so plainly displayed on his face and person. "Go make your appearance."

She craved the safety and stillness of the Bates’ empty house, now even more than before. They were still too close to the Abbey, and truth be told, Jane didn’t want to do anything that would compromise her further if Frank couldn’t make good on his promises after all. She would never admit it - indeed, she did not entirely realize the truth of it on his side, given how much in his thrall she felt herself to be - but he affected her in much the same way she affected him. Being together, alone, usually clarified matters for him and gave him the energy he needed to persevere, but it only served to confuse matters for her. Frank made it harder to think sensibly about things. Not that Jane wanted to think of any of this just now; at the moment, thinking buoyed realizations that only hurt her.

He gave her a look that made her wish he could simply escort her back to the Bates’ to be near her in quiet and silence, but that could not happen, for a multitude of reasons. He finally took her hands in his and kissed them both, thankful she’d let him touch her after all. When he finally managed to embrace her, she resisted the temptation to succumb to the creeping weakness in her back and extremities. She so wanted to melt in his arms, but could not until she felt more easy with their situation. "Frank, someone will see us!" she hissed, rather unintentionally as she flinched away from him.

His expression dropped as he regarded her with surprise, then hardened. “Yes, with this _crowd_ that surrounds us, Miss Fairfax, we shall certainly be caught,” he replied sardonically, gesturing dramatically around them at the tall grass undulating in the latecoming breeze. 

Jane felt as if he had heaved a rock upon her heart. At that moment, it seemed as though he would never understand her nor the burdens his grand schemes placed upon her weary shoulders. He was so eager to please her when she was giving him what he wanted, especially when it came to physical things. When she didn’t, he snapped at her, discounted her feelings, or ignored her. This is how her life with him would be. 

Jane squared her shoulders in preparation to continue toward the village. "You have been expected at Donwell for hours. Hurry. I must be home. You must prove to Mrs. Weston that your mare is reliable, and to the world that I mean nothing to you.” 

That stung Frank, but he chose to ignore it. ”Jane, Jane, Jane," he exclaimed sweetly, changing course in an attempt to make amends, “Please don’t be cross. Let me walk with you, at least until the village.” He smiled a genuinely besotted smile, opening himself up to her again, and she… she closed herself off to him! What was wrong now? He was about to add that it was the least he could do given his dismal record as a fiancé, but Jane interrupted him before he could reopen his mouth. 

"That would be foolish indeed, to let our guard down like that. To be found out in such a way!" She began again down the road. How thoughtless he was! Did he hear a thing she’d said? 

“Besides, Miss Woodhouse awaits,” she added over her shoulder, with a sudden eagerness to wound him. Jane Fairfax was all at once very angry. Jane Fairfax was tired of allowing Frank Churchill to be so careless with her life and her heart. 

He started after her, calling her name. She did not look back at him, praying no one could hear him, and quickened her pace. 

Frank was stung. The force of his cheerful front could not carry either of them now. He stood fixed to the ground for a moment, setting his jaw as frustration welled up inside him. He took a swipe at the grass with his crop, remounted his horse and galloped off in the direction of the Abbey. 

Jane shook as she exhaled, pressing ahead as her arms involuntarily crossed her chest and her hands grasped her shoulders. When she finally returned home, she collapsed into bed and curled herself into a ball. It was all she could do to defend herself against him, even from a mile away. 


	4. A Fortunate Person

Frank arrived at Donwell Abbey hot and out of spirits. He was hungry and tired, and what should have been a sweet moment with the person he needed most in the world made him feel rebuked and rejected. Her tartness and vexation tore at his heart. 

The consequences of an untimely revelation had always been of utmost concern to Frank, yet he rarely thought of them beyond a foggy notion of general familial discomfort. Such an event would give rise to a myriad of unpleasant prospects in his mind, including severance from his living, of which he could not think without considerable guilt. For her sake - and his own - he could not risk its loss. By the same token, he knew on some hidden level that this entire business was doing no favors for Miss Fairfax. 

Jane, that untouchable goddess who so generously allowed a wretched fool like him to worship at her feet! Asking her to endure an indefinite period of painful separation so he could collect the inheritance made him feel like the worst sort of cad. Even when he reasoned that it was all to make a better life for her in the future, he felt like half a man. So, instead of directly attempting to reconcile the situation to his conscience, Frank normally became unfailingly absorbed with the urgency of all that was current, allowing himself only the most rudimentary appraisal of the next phase of events, and a reprieve from self-awareness and shame. 

He knew that she must be sick from waiting, and he understood that her temperament was very different from his. But he was in no mood to be gentle, charitable, and selfless now. In his hurt and guilt, he first lashed out at her silently instead. 

_She knows better. She knows I have no feelings for Miss Woodhouse. She knows I owe my aunt everything - I can’t desert family in its hour of need. And what kind of man would I be to lead her into an impoverished marriage? If I cannot provide for her, perhaps she is better off with the Sucklings or Bragges or Whomevers that Mrs. Elton keeps promising her. She has to know that this is for her more than anyone…she must know that we both suffer so that we - she - can be happy. She does know. She does and perhaps she does not care. She is tired of me. She is tired of waiting for the money._

After eating, Frank was able to restore some of his outward cheer. Inside, however, the clarity provided by sustenance made him felt even worse. _None of this was Jane’s doing. This is a hell of my making. I forced her into this. If I cannot provide for her immediately and declare myself publicly, like a gentleman should, then I do not deserve her._

But he wasn’t ready to give her up just yet. Feeling adrift, Frank let Miss Woodhouse convince him to join the next day's party to Box Hill. He needed to see Jane again, he knew. But beyond that, he had no idea how they’d manage to settle any questions or clear the air. He would, for once, follow her lead. And if she was ready to be done with him, well, that was precisely what he deserved. Wasn’t it? 

Though he was just beginning to understand his mistakes in regard to Jane Fairfax, he continued to delude himself about the consequences of his attentions to Miss Woodhouse. As she held her own with him, he tried to convince himself that the intimacy into which they were thrown (well, into which _he_ had thrown them) had forged an unspoken understanding of playful friendship between them - and nothing else. 

Frank noticed that the Woodhouses had been perusing engravings of Swiss views, souvenirs collected from a Knightley tour abroad. Suddenly, his progress toward realization doubled back on itself again. What good was the vast beauty of the world when he could be alone in it, without her? _I love her. She swore she loved me!_

He suddenly expressed an interest in going abroad as soon as he could. Yes, he thought. _A separation of some distance would spare me the agony of losing her._ He was once again in a spiteful, childish mood, and though he attempted to curtail himself, he would speak as he felt - to a point. 

'"As soon as my aunt gets well I shall go abroad," said he. "I shall never be easy till I have seen some of these places. You will have my sketches, some time or other, to look at - or my tour to read - or my poem. I shall do something to expose myself."' Frank was wound so tightly that he spoke half-seriously, and only half-guardedly. 

"You will never go to Switzerland," said Miss Woodhouse. "Your uncle and aunt will never allow you to leave England." 

"They may be induced to go too," he replied, now quite involved in this little fantasy. "A warm climate may be prescribed for her. I have more than half an expectation of our all going abroad. I assure you, I have. I feel a strong persuasion, this morning, that I shall soon be abroad. I ought to travel. I am tired of doing nothing. I want a change. I am serious Miss Woodhouse, whatever your penetrating eyes may fancy - I am sick of England, and would leave it tomorrow if I could." 

"You are sick of prosperity and indulgence! Cannot you invent a few hardships for yourself, and be contented to stay?" 

"I sick of prosperity and indulgence! You are quite mistaken," he replied, with a rueful laugh. "I do not look upon myself as either prosperous or indulged. I am thwarted in everything material. I do not consider myself a fortunate person." _Indeed, I am not_ , he thought again - _in all things that matter_. 


	5. Choose a Wife for Me

The next morning, the sight of Jane killed any shreds of hope that might have remained from the day before. She was obviously tired, and when she looked at him, it was with a cold, resigned calm which alarmed him. Suddenly, he could not get through to her. She seemed immune and it panicked him. All at once, Frank wanted to stab back at her for her coldness the day before, and cry out to her that he loved her more than ever. Any reaction was better than nothing at all, but he would have no chances to get through to her for now. 

Frank knew he was very near the full realization of some very powerful, unhappy truths, and he was afraid. He also sensed that it was mostly of his own doing, so he resigned himself to cultivating an appearance of a state as close to tranquility as he could manage until he could speak to Jane alone. 

Miss Woodhouse noticed immediately that he was unusually silent and out of sorts, paying little attention to all about him and bestowing only the barest civility when it was called for. Every attempt on her part to revive his spirits was unsuccessful for a good part of the day. Her attempts to draw him out, coupled with the heaviness in his mind and heart, eventually infused Frank with a resolve not to be beaten by Jane's indifference. He would maintain his veneer. She would not affect him. With that he turned the whole of his attention to Miss Woodhouse. He would use her animation and interest as his support. He would make her the center of attention - he would show Jane that he would not be shaken. 

After a time, it was clear that Mrs. Elton had borne quite enough Miss Woodhouse's elevation. She was mortified that her own picnic should glorify anyone else, and was resolved to draw her husband away with her for a walk. Mr. Elton attempted to engage Jane to go with them, but she refused. _Oh, how she delights in this! She means to drive me mad with her coldness,_ Frank thought, deciding then and there that he would fight back. 

"Happy couple!" he said--"How well they suit one another!--Very lucky--marrying as they did, upon an acquaintance formed only in a public place!--They only knew each other, I think, a few weeks in Bath! Peculiarly lucky!--for as to any real knowledge of a person's disposition that Bath, or any public place, can give--it is all nothing; there can be no knowledge. It is only by seeing women in their own homes, among their own set, just as they always are, that you can form any just judgment. Short of that, it is all guess and luck--and will generally be ill-luck. How many a man has committed himself on a short acquaintance, and rued it all the rest of his life!" 

He was hoping to provoke some sort of reaction from Jane, and she did not disappoint him. '"Such things do occur, undoubtedly,” she began, then paused. 

"You were speaking," said he, gravely. She recovered her voice, and with it, her confidence. Everything he had said and done that day had destroyed nearly all certainty she had of his affection. 

'"I was only going to observe, that though such unfortunate circumstances do sometimes occur both to men and women, I cannot imagine them to be very frequent. A hasty and imprudent attachment may arise--but there is generally time to recover from it afterwards. I would be understood to mean, that it can be only weak, irresolute characters, (whose happiness must be always at the mercy of chance,) who will suffer an unfortunate acquaintance to be an inconvenience, an oppression for ever."' 

  
Frank searched her face, his mind racing with incredulity. What did she mean? _Could she really want to be through with me?_ He could think of it no longer. He bowed, and then threw himself into the most violent round of flirting in which he had ever engaged with Miss Woodhouse. A single slack moment now, he thought, would force him to publicly betray his feelings for Jane. Anything short of complete denial would reduce him to groveling at her feet. 

'"Well, I have so little confidence in my own judgment, that whenever I marry, I hope somebody will choose my wife for me? Will you?" (turning to Emma). "Will you choose a wife for me? I am sure I should like anybody fixed on by you. You provide for the family, you know" (with a smile at his father). "Find somebody for me. I am in no hurry. Adopt her; educate her." 

  
"And make her like myself." 

  
"By all means, if you can."' 


	6. Sadness & Spectacles

That evening, Frank rushed home to Enscombe upon receipt of a short letter from his uncle on the state of his aunt's health, without so much as another word to Jane. Not even a short note. Jane, devastated by the insensitivity of his speech and the difference of his reaction to her rebuttal of that day, was convinced that Frank wanted nothing more than to break off their engagement. It was probably for the best, she thought. Now she could cease to torment herself and he could face his aunt on her deathbed. _If that is truly what this is_ , she thought, perhaps unkindly, but not without reason. _And he may flirt with any young lady he likes with impunity! Why did he come today if only to give me pain?_ He had been too spirited, and too mesmerized by Emma Woodhouse, to consider Jane's heartbreak. She was so upset that she could not bring herself to face Miss Woodhouse or accept her gifts when she attempted to call on her in the days which followed. Jane even feigned illness - no! She did not feign it, for it was real physical discomfort, assuaged by nothing. She resolved upon accepting the Smallridges’ offer immediately. Had he not expressed himself plainly enough? She and Frank would never be together, so what was to keep her now from accepting the worst? 

Immediately after speaking with Mrs. Elton, Jane sat down to compose a letter which caused her the greatest pain to write. She would inform him of her feelings regarding the imprudence of their engagement, and how it had come to be a source of repentance and misery to them both. She would give him the escape he apparently desired and she desperately needed, resolving that they should never have met, and that they should never meet again. It was all she could do to prevent the page from becoming an illegible and tearstained mess. It was sent with the morning post - and with it, a renewal of her old resolve to complete her sacrifice, retiring forever from the pleasures of life to penance and mortification forever. 

  
The next week was the most agonizing and unhappy of Jane's entire existence. When she could, she would excuse herself to her bedroom to silently sob, in hopes that it might relieve the terrible grinding pain in her temples and the burning knot in her stomach. The pain and knot remained, however, though the tears succeeded in draining away her strength. Anything, it seemed, could refresh her misery. The Bates' was filled with objects which could touch off devastating recollections. Even the sight of her grandmother's spectacles, one day repaired (not) so diligently by Frank, reduced her to tears. To escape, she quietly left the house one day to wander aimlessly through some nearby fields, but the bright day coupled with the vastness of the sky and the earth oppressed rather than invigorated her. Her life was over, her world destroyed, she thought. How could the world go on so cheerfully while misery such as hers existed? 

Even sensible Jane Fairfax was prone to dramatics in romance, she lamented. Or was that Frank Churchill’s influence? Jane had no way of knowing, as she’d never been in love before. Either way, she found herself mortified by her own feelings. 

For the first few days, she half-hoped, as all her hopes of late had become, that she would receive a letter of apology from Frank, in which he would renew his declarations of love for her, and reaffirm his wish that the engagement be preserved. But such a letter never came. By the fourth day, she was completely resigned to their failure. Jane's worst fears struck freshly, their power renewed and magnified. He did not love her. And with relations between them as they were, she tried to persuade herself, he did not deserve her. 


	7. Repentance & Misery

On his ride home, the day of the Box Hill picnic, Frank was nearly as distraught as Jane. He was thankful for an excuse - any excuse - to quit Highbury altogether, so as to avoid the pain of hearing her name, or of seeing her in the company of others, without possibility for reconciliation. Her words seemed plain enough. Frank Churchill had never been comfortable directly confronting truths like these when they were on the way, but at least now that they were crashing in on him, he thought he could begin to actually accept them. He knew that soon - very soon - he was obliged to formally let her go in some way, to communicate to her that the choice was hers to break off their engagement. 

But he didn’t get the chance. 

The morning of his aunt's death, Frank received Jane's letter. Just as he was given hope to try again with Jane, publicly this time, she was shooting him down: 

_For some time now I have considered our overhasty and ill-planned engagement regretfully. I can no longer act a part in such a deceit. It has oppressed us both, making us liars to ourselves and to all those around us. Neither of us, it seems, retains the determined optimism necessary to maintain it. Reality has called us back to our senses, reminding us that duty lies elsewhere, and reviving the prudence we so foolishly abandoned last October. Our situations will never be reconciled, we both now realize, and our only relief from the pain of such a mistake will lie in parting forever. We must never meet again, lest we be continually and painfully reminded of this source of repentance and misery to us both._

_But so much has changed,_ he thought, reading and rereading furiously. _I meant none of that, Jane. You wounded me and I wanted to return the pain. Please, not now, not when we finally have a chance!_

He replied directly, dashing off a few lines of apology to her, hoping that the serious and heartfelt reaffirmation of his love (and his fortune) would fix everything. He wrote that he would soon broach the matter of their engagement to his uncle, and expressed confidence that their long ordeal would soon be over. This will revive her spirits as it has mine, he thought with a momentary pang of regret given the circumstances of his hope, and prepared to send it out that very morning with the early post. In his preoccupation with the day's events, he inadvertently locked the letter in his secretary, and mistakenly considered the note safely on its way to Jane. He then removed with his uncle to Windsor, Jane consuming his thoughts as he waited for her reply.

A reply that, days later, had still not come. 

On the second day of his relocation to Windsor, Frank received a shock. It came in the form of a parcel from Jane, containing all of his letters and a curt note: 

_I must admit to you, sir, my most extreme astonishment at receiving nothing - not even the smallest reply - in regard to my recent message. Silence on a point such as this cannot be misconstrued, and, as it is equally desirable to both of us to have every subordinate arrangement concluded as soon as possible, I have returned all of your letters by a secure conveyance. I request that, if you cannot directly command mine within a week, you would forward them to me after that period care of Mr. Smallridge..._

He knew at once the significance of her removal from Highbury, and cursed the inadequacies of the post until, almost immediately, he found that the error had been his completely - the letter was there, directly before him, on his writing desk. _Idiot!_ he snapped at himself. Indeed, this whole series of sad events was his own fault, risen from his own negligence, multiple times over. _Could not you see and understand what she was trying to tell you? She needed reassurance and you failed her._ He had neglected her, and subjected her to horrendous pains as he selfishly indulged his own feelings! He was too ashamed to think of what had transpired the day of the picnic - how he had felt wounded by her, and sought to wound her in retaliation. He also remembered what he had said to Miss Woodhouse. 

At once, he resolved to make everything right to Jane. As awkward as it might be, he would obtain his uncle's blessing immediately, after which he would rush to Highbury so that he might throw himself on Jane's mercy. How stupid he had been! How utterly insensitive! Oh, but she must understand how ardently he did love her! His dear Jane - a governess! Absolutely impossible! So, in the effortlessly simple manner in which he was so used to proceeding, Frank Churchill sought to right himself again in the eyes of his dear Jane Fairfax, barely remembering the lessons he should have learned from the ordeal.


	8. The Luckiest Man in the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This concludes the exercise. For years, I've toyed with the idea of a post-canon fic dealing with Jane's life after marriage. Maybe I'll add that eventually.

Jane hoped, again, that her pessimism would foil itself, though she expected - at best - a cool, sparse reply concurring in her judgment. Instead, the next morning she received a call from the man himself. 

At first she knew not what to say. He rushed for her hand, squeezing it in both of his, informing her that his uncle had given his blessing. He continued, explaining his mishap surrounding her first letter, and the subsequent epiphany he had experienced by receipt of her second. 

"Jane," he said, "I may be a selfish, impudent dog, not worthy of half your beauty and goodness, but you must learn never to doubt me. I am so sincerely attached to you that no other woman could possibly wrest my heart from your hands. Please - can you understand that all of my flirting with Miss Woodhouse really was all a part of the act? I went too far, and I am certainly sorry for it...but it killed me to think that you no longer wanted me. I desperately, stupidly wanted to elicit _something_ from you at Box Hill - but the response I received chilled my heart, Jane. My reaction was all I could attempt without throwing myself at your feet. I pray that you did not mean it! Please understand, my dearest Jane... And your letter...can it be true? Are you serious about the Smallridges? Can you look at me and tell me that our engagement, while admittedly a source of great misery to us both which is entirely my fault, is a source of repentance?" 

Jane was overcome, and even felt some remorse for having doubted him. She could not contradict such intensity. This was the Frank Churchill she had known months before in Weymouth - the entirely persuasive Frank whom she, and many others, could not successfully deny satisfaction. 

"No, I cannot," she replied softly. "Nor," she continued, "can I face poor Miss Woodhouse without feeling great shame and the coldness and artificiality of my manners toward her during these months, and especially of late. Oh, Frank! That none of this would have ever happened! That we could have avoided this evil! This - dissimulation! And the pain which we have caused each other!" She explained to him all the doubts that had plagued her so long, closing with a description of Mrs. Elton's insistent offer and her decision to accept it. 

"Jane, that is all on my head, not yours. To think of the despair I have caused you, and the scandal to which I exposed your name! Upon my word, my dearest Jane, I shall never betray you in this manner again...Now," he changed course, "how in the world could that officious - nay, it is an inept description! - offensive woman in her most ridiculous delusions ever hope to force my dear, beautiful Jane Fairfax into the life of a governess?!" 

Before Jane could think of something appropriate to say in reply, Frank had already begun a steady conversation with himself regarding the happiness of his parents. _Well_ , thought Jane, _Frank is certainly back_ , and sighed internally yet again. 

Frank was satisfied with himself, elated that he had righted his situation so quickly. He had spoken passionately and forcefully to his uncle, expressing his deep love for Jane and his firm desire to be with her no matter what the cost. His uncle, in the aftermath of Mrs. Churchill's death, was unwilling to put up much opposition, and was soon won over. _Miss Woodhouse was right. I am indeed fortunate_ , he thought. _I am the luckiest man in the world!_

As Frank rushed off to reveal the truth to the Westons, both for their own benefit and in hopes that they might convey the truth and his apologies to Miss Woodhouse, Jane Fairfax hoped that all would finally be settled to the satisfaction of all involved. She relaxed, in quiet joy and relief, confident that whatever the nature of the Weston's initial disappointment, Frank would no doubt convince them into a state of unqualified elation. Perhaps now, she thought, Mr. Knightley might be able to address Miss Woodhouse with the feelings which she knew he harbored for her. And on her own behalf, Jane was happy and relieved that Frank loved her still! Jane's pale, sickly countenance almost instantly bloomed to the notice of all who thereafter came upon her. She was all smiles and good nature now that the deception was finished, speaking easily and pleasantly as she had not done in months! 

In her joy, she chose not to dwell on Frank’s insensitivity. After all, she thought, now that they could be open about their engagement, it was obvious that Frank was anxious to return to their early, happy situation. He quite obviously adored and worshipped her, and in the days that followed, he would speak of little else than her beauty, goodness, and his devotion to her. Better still, he was continually reproaching himself for his ill treatment of her. He had apologized and pledged to be the kind of husband she deserved from here on out. Jane was not excited about the three months they would have to wait, in deference to deep mourning of Mrs. Churchill's death, to marry. But it was really nothing compared to the eternity they had endured since October. She wished that they could finally, after everything, be happy together. 


End file.
